


Til I Tasted You

by raritysdiamonds



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Food Kink, Food Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Soul Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11940573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raritysdiamonds/pseuds/raritysdiamonds
Summary: Toriel usually tells him off for leaving crumbs in the bed, so bringing dessert with them is, Sans has to admit, a suggestion he wasn't expecting but sure as hell isn’t objecting to.





	Til I Tasted You

**Author's Note:**

> ...uhhh. I mean. Is anyone really surprised that my first attempt at smut turned out this fluffy and ridiculous?  >.>;;
> 
> thanks to all the fellow filthy minds who encouraged me to actually write and post this thing (you know who you are) lol <3

Toriel usually tells him off for leaving crumbs in the bed, so bringing dessert with them is, Sans has to admit, a suggestion he wasn't expecting but sure as hell isn’t objecting to.

He also wasn't expecting her to come back with the  _ whole  _ pie, fancy plate, knife and all, but he can roll with it, lying back on the bed as she carefully places the pie on the bedside table; he smirks up at her as she joins him on the bed, lifting his brow bone at the conspicuous can of whipped cream clutched in her paw.

"Whoa, there, Tori. Never knew you were into  _ whipping _ ."

A sticky blob hits him right between the sockets almost immediately after he gets the words out.

“ _ Whoops _ ,” Toriel says, widening her eyes and blinking in a totally failed attempt to look innocent before dissolving into giggles as Sans wipes the cream off his face and smears it over her muzzle in retaliation. She lunges forwards, trapping him against the headboard, and aggressively nuzzles her creamy face against his, planting deliberately sloppy kisses all over his skull, cheekbones, neck and every bit of exposed bone she can reach until they're both covered in the stuff, sticky and laughing.

"While that is sometimes _tempting_ ," she says, smiling down at him with a deliciously devious gleam in her eye, “tonight, I was planning to _butter_ you up instead. Off,” she adds, tugging at Sans’ t-shirt; her commanding tone sends a sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine as he obeys, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side while Toriel turns her attention to the pie. He can't help but grin at the way she considers it carefully, cutting a generous slice with the same care and precision she applies to everything as though she were about to serve it to...well, to the queen.

"Hmm." Toriel takes the pie in her paws and turns back to Sans, moving to straddle him on the bed with her thighs either side of his pelvis; he suddenly feels intensely exposed, just from the way her gaze passes over his bare bones like she's contemplating what to do with him. He jumps a little as she presses the pie against his ribs – it’s  _ cold  _ from the fridge, and sticky, and feels a little weird as Toriel hums thoughtfully, pinching the pie between her fingers to soften it up and letting flaky crumbs fall over Sans’ ribcage and onto the mattress, until she starts rubbing it over him and he shivers, spine instinctively arching up into her touch; he didn't realise how much he needed to feel the silky tickle of her fur, the warm, calloused but soft pads of her paws on him until she withdraws them, leaning back to appraise her handiwork.

"There," she murmurs, the smile curling her lips playful but the glint in her eyes almost predatory; she licks her lips, and if Sans had any insides they would definitely have turned to jelly. "My dear, you look positively good enough to eat."

Sans chuckles, searching for something funny to say to distract from the blue he can feel burning across his cheekbones the longer she keeps _looking_ at him like that – but then Toriel distracts him pretty efficiently by bending her head to lick a long, wet stripe up along his lower spine and all that comes out is a startled, strangled noise embarrassingly close to a whimper. He feels her laugh softly, right before she sets to work _thoroughly_ licking the pie from each of his ribs in turn, her warm, wet tongue curling and teasing along the sensitive undersides; he gasps and shudders underneath her, clutching at the back of her head, running his fingers through her fur in a vain attempt to pull her closer.

"Tori – _shit_ , Tori, that feels so – that’s – _ah_ – " Sans’ increasingly incoherent train of thought is swallowed up in a moan as she starts making noises – greedy, appreciative little _mmm_ s that vibrate all the way through his ribs and straight to his soul, like she's _really_ enjoying the pie, or maybe just making him squirm underneath her. The tip of her nose just barely nudges his soul, sending a jolt of pleasure through his magic that makes him cry out and involuntarily twist his fingers tighter into Toriel’s fur, because he needs... _something,_ he doesn't even know what, but _more._ She just keeps lapping at the crumbs scattering his sternum, moving higher and letting her teeth drag the slightest bit over his clavicle as he groans at the sharp spark of pleasure-pain.

“Hey,” he says, grinning weakly as she lifts her head to meet his sockets, mischief and affection dancing in her eyes as he cups her face to bring their mouths together; he can taste the pie on her, and feels her smile into the kiss as he takes the opportunity to steal a few stray crumbs from her bottom lip. Her breasts press up against his ribs and his soul pulses with desire, aching for her touch – but he’s not going to beg for it, not yet, because it's more fun if they can at least _pretend_ he has any composure left to lose around her. “Do I get any?”

Toriel just snorts softly in response as Sans slides his hands up through her fur to play with her ears, shivering a little when he traces over the delicate undersides. 

“I don't know,” she replies teasingly, but she doesn't stop him from running his hands down to her shoulders, sliding the straps of her flimsy nightdress down until her breasts spill free, exposed in all their perfect, creamy white, pink-tipped glory, and nods towards the pie. “Perhaps you should help yourself?”

Oh, right; Sans reaches clumsily for the pie, not even attempting to drag his sockets away from her as she wriggles her shoulders so her dress falls all the way down, exposing a glorious expanse of soft curves. She laughs delightedly as he scoops up a handful and rubs it over her chest; there's something weirdly satisfying about messing her up like this, smearing sticky, sugary globs over her usually pristine fur, and that she's letting him. Toriel shivers a little as he cups her breasts, her giggles turning into a low, throaty moan when Sans strokes his thumbs over her nipples, feeling them stiffen under his touch, before he reaches for the whipped cream. She jumps slightly from the cold as he squirts a generous blob onto each breast before moving lower, decorating her stomach with sloppy squiggles with all the skill and finesse of a five-year-old at finger painting class (heh, finger painting...there’s gotta be a joke in there somewhere).

“ What are you  _ doing _ ?” Toriel asks, planting her hands on her hips with that familiar mixture of exasperation and amusement, and the slightest hint of frustration. “Are you attempting to draw a mural on me?”

“Uh...something like that.” Sans cocks his head as though appraising his masterpiece – the kindest way to describe his art style would probably be “abstract”, but the view’s still pretty good from where he’s standing. “Can’t rush true genius, Tori, y’know?”

"I suppose it is wishful thinking expecting you to rush any _ thing _ ...!" Her voice rises to a squeak as he finally claims his share, burying his face between her breasts and shamelessly licking up the generous helpings of pie nestled there; butterscotch and cinnamon has never tasted quite so good, when it's accompanied by Toriel pressing up into his mouth and making rough noises of pleasure. He swirls his tongue through the cream, flicking over her nipple, and she growls, running her paw over Sans’ spine to the top of his skull, holding him against her.

"Mmmm, yes, that's nice," she sighs, eyes fluttering closed in bliss as he cups the breast he's not currently licking clean – he figures it must be feeling a little left out by now – and sends a little magic through his phalanges, pinching her nipple just a little bit rougher than before and earning another sharp moan and a shudder of pleasure he can feel reverberate through both of their magic as Toriel’s claws scratch over the back of his skull, the top of his spine, hitting _just_ the right sweet spot between pleasure and pain.

With her top half thoroughly licked – fortunately, Sans’ mouth is a little too preoccupied right now to laugh at that – he starts to trace the sticky, haphazard trail of cream with his tongue down over her stomach, lingering over the spots where her fur grows sparser and he can see the delicate flesh underneath, feel her muscles tense, taste the heat of her skin as her magic responds to his touch.

"Sans," Toriel says, and he can tell she's trying to sound stern but her voice catches and it comes out as more of a plea than a warning as he tugs her panties down with one hand while the other traces lazy shapes through the generous dollop of cream he left on her thighs; she's so beautiful like this, so open and vulnerable and trusting with her legs spread open, ready for him, he just has to savour the sight a little longer, even if he knows he'll pay for it later. “ _ Sans _ . I hope you have not fallen asleep down there."

The temptation is too strong; Sans lets his skull loll forward, still not quite touching her, and hums an exaggerated  _ zzzz  _ through his nasal cavity and over her exposed folds, eliciting a high-pitched bleat at the unexpected sensation.

"That is not _funny_ ," Toriel splutters, groaning and giggling at the same time, which of course sets Sans off too and he has to lean against her thigh, snorting helplessly as she draws them together to give him a warning squeeze – she's so going to make him pay for this, and it's going to be _so_ worth it.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he manages, when they've just about composed themselves, because as much as being crushed between her thighs would be a hell of a way to go, he's not quite _that_ selfish; he nuzzles at the soft fur of her inner thigh by way of apology. “Lemme make it up to ya?”

Toriel huffs a quiet _hmph_ , as if to say _this had better be good,_ but it's followed by a sharp intake of breath as Sans leans in and runs his tongue around her outer lips. The artificial sweetness of the cream mingles with Toriel’s own wetness as he licks into her, savouring her unique taste and the breathy, needy noises she's making; she gasps and writhes when he circles over her clit, her thighs trembling with the effort of not bucking her hips, so he keeps at it, sloppy but precise licks making her moans grow louder, incoherent, encouraging nonsense sounding vaguely like _yes_ and _there_ and _Sans_ that makes his own soul throb with need. He barely even realises his hand’s halfway up his ribcage to touch himself, just to relieve some of the growing pressure, until Toriel’s paw closes firmly around his wrist before he can get there – suddenly, abruptly, she tugs both of them upright, back onto their knees so he can see her face again.

“ Wait,” she orders, her voice low and husky and her eyes dark with desire as she captures both of Sans’ hands in hers, and he barely bites back a frustrated whine, painfully aware of his soul, which now feels like it's a couple sizes too big, leaking magic through his ribs, dripping down to the mattress, even onto Toriel’s knee. "Do not be  _ greedy _ ."

"Tori, what -" She cuts him off with a rough kiss, hungrily licking up her own juices from where they're still wet on his jaw as her hand trails down over his ribs, stroking over his spine until he feels her tugging down his shorts.

“ What are these doing still  _ on _ ?” she demands, sounding so offended by the very existence of Sans’ shorts that he lets out a breathless chuckle of agreement that collapses into a gasp when Toriel pulls him to her, repositioning them so her sex is rubbing against his pubis.

"Here, let me…” she murmurs, rolling her hips experimentally; she feels so  _ good _ , so hot and slick and soft as she grinds against him, letting out a grunt of pleasure when he rubs up against a sensitive spot, and he can feel the heat building between his magic and hers, simultaneously too much and not enough – until, without warning, she slides her hand inside his ribs and grasps his soul, and Sans makes a noise he doesn't even  recognise , a stuttering moan he can't even muffle into her fur as his body jerks from the sudden, dizzying, overwhelming rush of pleasure.

“ Holy  _ fuck _ , Tori –”

"My, you are wet," she observes, teasing and just a little smug as she pinches lightly at the tip of his soul, traces her fingers over the edges, feather-light and torturously slow – damn if she's not making him pay for it  _ now,  _ the magic thrumming in Sans’ bones making him hypersensitive to the slightest touch, pinpricks of pleasure from every tiny movement of her hand and brush of her fur. He's seconds away from begging when she tightens her grip and finally starts to move faster, squeezing as she rocks her hips against his pelvis in a steady rhythm until he's clutching at her back, her neck, her ears, any part of her he can grab while babbling an incoherent stream of  _ ohfuckyesTorilikethatdon’tstopToriToriplease _ ...

“Sans?” Toriel’s hand on his soul slows, almost slipping away; before Sans can voice his displeasure, her other hand cups his jaw, gently tilting his head up so she can look into his sockets. “Are you – is this okay? I hope it is not...too much?”

Out of all the words to describe everything he's feeling right now,  _ okay  _ probably isn't the one Sans would've chosen – but Toriel’s eyes cut through his lust-filled haze, and the tenderness and concern there tugs at his magic in a whole different way, because she's...she's so close, baring herself to him in every sense of the word, and she's  _ everything _ , literally holding his life in her hands. With the right kind of pressure, and the wrong kind of intent, she could turn him to dust right now – and yet Sans knows, as sure as he's ever been of anything, that there's no safer place for it to be.

“Y-yeah, Tori, it’s okay,” he manages, stroking his fingers through her fur as he squeezes her back, the depth of love and trust in her eyes somehow even more overwhelming than the sensation of her hand tightening around his soul in response. “I can take it.”

“ Good boy,” she whispers, breath hot against his skull, and  _ that – _ the lusty growl in her voice as she tugs him closer, the urgency of her hips rutting against his pelvis increasing as her hand slips from his skull to stroke his ribs and she lowers her head to swipe her tongue over his glowing, aching soul – it finally pushes him over the edge, waves of pleasure rolling through his body, reverberating through every last one of his bones as he cries out, vision blurring with the intensity of it. Toriel moans and writhes from the outpouring of Sans’ magic, their energies intermingling everywhere she's pressed up against him, holding and stroking him through the aftershocks until it’s too much and he has to gently nudge her hand away; she's so close too, he can feel it, and he moves his hand down over her breasts and stomach to slide two fingers into her while the magic’s still tingling through both of them, rubbing at her clit and eliciting a high-pitched, needy whine as she bucks desperately up into his hand.

“ _ Ahhh _ – Sans, Sans,  _ Sans _ – ” She gasps out his name like a prayer or a curse as she comes, her head thrown back in ecstasy; the final surge of her magic against his oversensitive bones borders on painful, but he's not about to let go of her, clutching each other until they collapse back onto the bed in a sticky, sweaty, satisfied tangle of limbs.

“G-goodness,” Toriel manages eventually, still panting a little with her cheeks flushed and her fur sticking up all over the place as she smiles at him with huge, dreamy eyes, and Sans doesn't think he's ever seen anything more beautiful. “That was…”

“ Yeah, that  _ was _ ,” Sans agrees, too exhausted and blissed out to do anything other than grin stupidly back at her as she wraps her sticky arms around him, snuggling close in the crumb-covered bed.

“Though we are certainly giving this place a good clean tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh.” That _we_ might be a little optimistic, but it's enough of a challenge now just keeping his sockets open, feeling himself drifting off into the afterglow. “Hey, Tori?”

“Hmmm?”

“You think we got enough leftovers for next time?”

She huffs a soft, sleepy laugh, nuzzling the back of his neck. “Well, I can hardly serve them to anyone _else_ now, can I?”

Sans is really, really glad she always bakes too much.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feedback is always appreciated! <3


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